


What we hunger for

by kjollar



Series: Freedom's strange ways [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: AU - slight canon divergence, Act I, Deep Roads Expedition, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Past Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3648780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjollar/pseuds/kjollar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The expedition into Deep Roads, with quite a bit of fighting, even more talking and a couple of profitable discoveries. There are also, possibly, several insights of personal nature, which is unexpected, because, in Fenris’s opinion, you shouldn’t distract yourself from trying to stay alive with soul-searching and self-discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank all those who’d read the first two stories and left kudos. Hope the next one doesn’t disappoint.
> 
> This is still un-betaed so I'm sorry for the remaining mistakes.

When Hawke came to ask him if he would join the Dark Roads expedition, his mood was unexpectedly somber. Personally, Fenris couldn’t see any particular reason to be so serious – in his mind it was a thing decided several months ago, and even if it was never discussed explicitly, almost everyone else appeared to share his certainty. He particularly remembered a moment after Javaris’s failed business deal with the qunari, which was still quite profitable for Hawke (an incident that was now fondly remembered as ‘extortion via Arishok’), when Hawke asked Varric what kind of solicitor’s fee was appropriate for Fenris’s negotiation skills. The dwarf only raised his eyebrows and said: “The Elf is going with us anyway, isn’t he? So count it as his contribution.” Fenris, who was uncharacteristically flustered after both the dwarf and the human extolled his clever use of qunari customs to maneuver Javaris into paying for their fight with the tal-vashoth, nodded in complete agreement and subsequently refused to take any money. He noticed that it didn’t seem to sit well with the fereldan, but at the time dismissed the whole episode as Hawke’s principles acting up.  
But now, when Hawke started with “I came to ask if you’ll agree to go into Deep Roads with me” instead of “We’re going into Deep Roads, get your things together and be prepared to move out”, Fenris suddenly thought that maybe Hawke secretly didn’t want him to go at all and was hoping to engineer a situation where the elf would be compelled to refuse.  
“I thought it was already decided?” he said, dismissing the idea as ridiculous, “you told me about it right after our first meeting, at the doors of this very mansion.”  
“I said I _may_ need your help, it wasn’t a binding contract.” Hawke rubbed his chin and settled a bit further into the ‘guest’ armchair. “Your skills and experience would be a definite asset in the expedition but I can’t let you just agree to join it without knowing the details, it wouldn’t be fair. I hope you don’t feel you’re _obliged_ to come out of some sense of gratitude, or honor, or something along those lines?”  
“No,” Fenris rolled his eyes.  
“Good. Then will you listen to my warnings and give me an honest answer? I won’t think any worse of you if you refuse,” he added earnestly, and Fenris scoffed. _Right, failing to help a friend, nothing to feel bad about._  
“I will listen, if it’s so important to you,” the agreed, silently adding that nothing Hawke said would change his mind, since going into the Deep Roads was not about some obligation, and hadn’t been for a while already.  
“We’re going in three days’ time,” Hawke started, “and Varric’s brother Bartrand is the official leader of the expedition, which means that whatever he says, goes. He’s not a pleasant character and doesn’t look like he’ll be grateful for the assistance or even treat his subordinates with due respect.”  
“The purpose of the expedition if earning money, is it not?” Fenris shrugged. “Who cares about respect as long as Bartrand pays in full?” the elf could see where Hawke was coming from, and distantly appreciated the effort, but truly, his pride was flexible enough to withstand any attitude if it was not outright slavery. Maker knows, actual consideration was almost foreign to Fenris anyway.  
“True,” Terrance huffed a laugh, “although I wouldn’t put it past him to cheat us all out of our share. Luckily, Varric doesn’t seem the sort to renege on a deal.  
Then, there’s the darkspawn,” he continued after a momentary pause. “Although the Roads are supposedly relatively clear of them this soon after the Blight, fighting them is inevitable. They are–” Hawke shuddered almost imperceptibly, but Fenris could easily spot the leftover fear from his past experiences (or maybe Hawke demonstrated in subtly but intentionally to prove the point), “–more dangerous than your average enemy. They rarely appear alone, and when in groups they attack furiously and without any regard for self-preservation. Their leaders can often use magic to boost their troops or weaken their enemies; I can’t imagine how much worse it would be to suffer a full-scale attack in the underground tunnels where it would be much easier to become trapped than in the open fields of Ferelden.”  
“I’ve seen demons, Hawke,” Fenris told him in a measured tone that concealed all emotions. “They were summoned by magisters to do their bidding, true, but it didn’t mean they were docile or harmless. I know the chaos they can wreck and I doubt that anything _darkspawn_ can do will impress me more. Tunnels are also convenient for bottle-necking the attack and weeding the enemy out.”  
“You’re positively optimistic,” Hawke observed, “not that I expected you to be swayed by some meager thing like a horde of darkspawn. So I saved the worst for last: I’m taking Anders.” He looked on, curious for the reaction. Fenris couldn’t help the corner of his mouth jumping in distaste. “No immediate retort this time, I see,” Hawke commented. “You know, we cut it pretty close when running away from Lothering, because we waited for Carver to return from Ostagar. It was a miracle he did at all, although I’m definitely grateful for it; but the delay also meant we had darkspawn snapping at our heels most of our way north. During those days we grew proficient in fighting together – my siblings and I – with me and Carver taking the darkspawn head on and Bethany covering us from a more secure position. The magical support was the only thing that kept us alive, and now, when we are going to face the same enemy once more, I would feel the most comfortable if I were to be a part of the same formation – two sword-wielders and a mage.  
But I simply can’t take Bethany. I can’t subject her to all these horrors again, when the goal is simply earning money instead of keeping us alive.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if it was as obvious as any other universal truth, and Fenris found himself nodding along. He had ample opportunities to observe the family bonds tying the Hawkes together and knew Terrance would do everything in his power to protect his little sister from danger. Bethany was a powerful mage in her own right, but neither her abilities nor experience could be enough to outbalance the perils of Deep Roads.  
“Out of the mages I know,” Hawke continued, “the choice is obvious. Anders not only knows Deep Roads from his time with the Grey Wardens, but is also very good at healing magic,” which undoubtedly amplified their chances of survival, but didn’t diminish neither Fenris’s wariness nor his dislike of the mage. “It’s not my personal choice,” Hawke continued, echoing the elf’s thoughts, “but in this instance I must bow to practicality.”  
“What about his demon- spirit- thing?” Fenris stumbled over definitions. “What if it acts up when we come too close to its relatives?”  
“That is my concern as well,” Hawke drummed his fingers on the armrest thoughtfully, “although in the previous instances when Justice came to the surface Anders had been able to maintain control of it. I would like to trust in his assurances, but we must be prepared for the worst. No sentiments,” he added mostly to himself, but Fenris answered anyway: “That’s all right, I don’t have any.” Hawke grinned in fond exasperation.   
When his expression grew serious once more, Fenris beat him to the punch. “I’m not an idiot,” he said almost conversationally, “I know what you’ll warn me about. You’re going to say that spending several weeks with the mage is not the same as grudgingly fighting together for an afternoon and you don’t want our conflict to escalate to a stage where it will become a danger for us all. I also understand that his skills are more useful to you than mine and that’s why you came to talk to me after you had already secured his help.” Fenris closed his mouth with a snap. That last sentence wasn’t supposed to be said. It sounded calm, reasonable – and it truly was, at least on the surface – but Fenris was taken aback by the amount of hurt and jealousy lurking underneath.  
If Hawke noticed anything out of the ordinary he thankfully decided not to comment on it, but he also didn’t deny any of the elf’s conclusions. “Like I said, I don’t want you to feel obligated to suffer though weeks of close contact with a person that–”  
“Makes me want to strangle him every time he opens his mouth?” Fenris suggested helpfully. “Don’t worry, I can control my murderous urges.”  
There was a momentary flash of frustration across Hawke’s face. “It’s more than that,” he objected. “It will inevitably fall to you to keep the peace. None of your not-so-friendly banter – Anders promised to keep his thoughts to himself but I don’t think it’s physically possible, so you’ll have to be ‘the bigger man’, as it were, and not rile him up.”  
Fenris huffed an annoyed breath. He didn’t like the prospect of swallowing his pride and letting the mage wax rhetoric on the misery and unfairness of his life, as opposed to everyone else, up to and including tevinter slaves, without being able to knock him down a peg or two. But that’s what you get for not being essential to the expedition – you have to pander to the ones who are.  
“I understand,” he answered stonily.  
Hawke opened his mouth to presumably deliver another warning before visibly pulling himself back. “I will trust you to know yourself,” he said instead, with a note of finality in his voice. “I _am_ glad you’re resolved to go and prepared to tolerate Anders for the duration of the expedition. For what it’s worth, I also believe that you’re reasonable enough to shrug off any provocation – deliberate or accidental.”  
Fenris frowned. Despite the declaration of faith, he still felt uncertain about Hawke’s acceptance of his decision. Somewhere along the line of their conversation his tone turned distant and formal, as opposed to the light and relaxed cadence that the elf had grown used to over the course of their time together. It suddenly felt as if Fenris was once again just a potential business partner – if not a servant – instead of a friend, and it rankled. Which was foolish in a way – didn’t he say just now that respect was not a deciding factor in earning money?   
This time Hawke noticed the change in the mood. “What is it?”  
“Nothing,” Fenris denied promptly, but caved after several seconds of his unrelenting gaze. “I just– I don’t understand why we are back to caution and formalities all of a sudden. I thought we were out of the territory of business deals and more into helping each other because we wanted to?” the hint of hurt managed to slither into his voice, and he hated it.  
“But that’s the point!” Ah, the frustration was back in full force. “It’s not some minor thing that I need your help with; we’re looking at several weeks of hardships alongside a constant source of frustration, with uncertain gain and very definite danger! I know _I_ wouldn’t have gone if I had other options, but you don’t need this expedition at all, so you don’t have to endure it just to help me!”  
For a moment all was silent, while they both contemplated Hawke’s words – and it looked like the more time passed, the more unsatisfied Terrance felt with his arguments.  
“Blight take it!” he finally cursed in an undertone. “I’m sorry.” He rubbed his face with a hand. “I think in my desire to present the pros and cons fairly I’ve leaned too far in the other direction. I very much want you to go,” he said, gaze open and completely sincere, “and I _know_ I can’t let myself be too selfish, especially when it’s not only my life at stake.”  
Fenris tried to get through Hawke’s convoluted logic to the essence of his words. Did he mean that instead of ‘selfishly” asking Fenris to go with him Hawke deliberately sabotaged his own proposal? No, that didn’t sound quite right… Perhaps, he meant that he was afraid that if he’d let himself be ‘selfish’ he would gloss over the more unpleasant aspects of the expedition, so he exaggerated them instead, laboring under some misguided noble notion of sparing Fenris the trouble?  
“You are a very strange man,” the elf shook his head, calmer now when Hawke’s unnatural behavior got an explanation, (the fact that it was slightly paradoxical in nature was almost expected at this point). “But I’m still coming with you, Maker preserve me.”  
That, thankfully, was enough to appease Hawke’s sense of fair play and allowed them to move on to discussing practicalities of the venture.

Bethany’s subsequent visit later that day was only half-unexpected – and the irony of anticipating a friendly call from a mage was not lost on Fenris. Over the months the younger Hawke managed to worm her way subtly closer to the elf despite all his guardedness. Their ‘flower-gathering’ expeditions became the most regular feature in his otherwise spontaneous ‘work schedule’, and Fenris found himself discussing the most nonsensical things with her, as well as sharing experiences he wouldn’t have thought to bring up with anyone else. He was also at a stage where he felt only a very faint pang of anxiety when witnessing her masterful use of entropy magic.  
It was uncanny, how when looking at Merrill Fenris thought _blood mage_ , Anders was _an abomination_ , but Bethany was simply _Bethany_. A deeply paranoid part of himself still whispered that it was all a trick to lull him into false security and then strike him down, but all the rest of him wanted to believe that the girl wasn’t capable of this level of deceit.  
“So, you’re going,” Bethany muttered gloomily after the usual greetings and proceeded to not say anything else.  
“It appears that I am,” Fenris said into the ensuing silence, “although Hawke made every effort to talk me out of it.”  
“Really?” that perked her right back up. “Oh, that’s just priceless!” she cackled.  
“How so?”  
To tell the truth, Fenris deliberately mentioned it hoping for this reaction – well, not the gleeful laughter exactly, but something out of the ordinary. The Hawke siblings were close and had an almost preternatural ability to tell what the other was thinking, so Fenris wanted to use this opportunity to have a little more insight into Terrance’s earlier behavior.   
“Well,” Bethany drawled, “when he talked to me about his ‘recruitment plans’ he was constantly moaning that _‘I don’t want to deal with Anders, but at least I’ll have Fenris with me’ _. Which is so hypocritical, by the way! He could have just taken me instead and spared himself the trouble, but no-o, he prefers to indulge in his masochistic streak!” she rambled indignantly. “Anyway, apparently you are quite a consolation.” And she succumbed to a new fit of giggles, while Fenris digested this tidbit of information (and tried to hold back a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips).  
“Wait,” she said suddenly, “did he use Anders as a way to persuade you not to go?”  
“Among other things,” Fenris replied without explaining that it was not the argument but its delivery that gave him momentary doubts about the expedition. The realization of how important Hawke’s respect was to him and how easily he was rattled by even a hint of indifference was too uncomfortable to share even with Bethany (who was, surprisingly enough, quite high on the list of his potential confidants).  
“But he didn’t say anything about you staying in Kirkwall to keep an eye on me?” Bethany continued with a shrewdly triumphant smile.  
“No,” the elf frowned.   
“Aha!” she cried. “So he really was only appeasing his conscience! He can be funny that way,” she nodded conspiratorially. “Would it have worked?” she then added much more quietly.  
Fenris did not need to ask for clarification since he was privately wondering the same thing himself. On the surface, there could be nothing more absurd than suggesting that an escaped slave, who deeply distrusted magic and whose life was still very much in danger, would consent to look after an apostate. But Bethany was not a nameless mage; she was a spirited and kind young woman, who calmly accepted Fenris’s reservations, never deliberately provoked him and seemed to sincerely care for his wellbeing; who was eager to laugh at his sarcastic remarks and managed to ask questions about his past in such a way that it was not painful to answer them. She was less careful than her brother in showing her interest, and that somehow made it easier to be open in return.   
Bethany was a friend, and the thought of loosing her was unexpectedly chilling. “Do you need looking after?” Fenris asked instead of answering directly.  
Bethany pouted. Fenris raised an eyebrow. She huffed in apparent exasperation, realizing that no amount of hopeful looks would get her the direct answer. “Fine, be that way! No, I don’t actually need looking after, whatever my brother may think. But it will be lonely with both you and Varric gone,” she added with a sigh.  
Fenris wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. He wasn’t one for empty platitudes and equally empty questions about those of their loose group of acquaintances who would remain in Kirkwall. Bethany, apparently, didn’t need any active input on his part. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back to doing nothing. Funny how quickly things can change,” she mused, and the elf caught himself nodding in agreement. “Maker, I can’t even imagine what father would have said if he’d seen us now…”  
Several dots connected. “When you say ‘doing nothing’, do you actually mean not doing magic?”   
“Yes. No! In part,” she floundered briefly. “Do you remember, you used to ask me about the templars and how we avoided them? That was the only safe way – not using spells at all. Father taught me to control my powers, so they did not manifest accidentally, but for every lesson in sorcery there was a lecture on the importance of not using it. Ever. He led by example: most of the time he was content to pretend that he was just an ordinary man.”  
“What about you?” Fenris asked, a bit surprised that he was curious enough about the trials of an apostate to keep the conversation going.  
“All my childhood I was doing exactly what he told me. I was frightened by what would templars do to me if they found out,” she shuddered reflexively. “Father was never overly specific in his warnings, but my imagination did most of the work for him anyway. So I was just an ordinary girl, the youngest child of an ordinary farmer; nothing special about me at all,” she shook her head self-deprecatingly.  
“And then the Blight came,” the elf nodded in understanding.  
“Yes, the Blight. But mostly in was Terrance,” she shrugged a little, and Fenris thought that somehow he wasn’t at all surprised by the primary source of her change. “He was also not the same as he is now. He was angry all he time – about Carver going off to join the army, about father refusing to leave Lothering immediately after the news of the defeat at Ostagar, about still hiding magic even when it could be more of a protection than a danger. Then Lothering was suddenly overrun by the darkspawn, Carver returned by some miracle but father died covering our retreat, and Terrance–” Bethany’s eyes were unfocused, and although she still looked in his general direction, Fenris guessed that she was too absorbed in the memories to remember that there was another person in the room. “–he shoved father’s staff in my hands and said _‘You are our only hope now, Bethany! The time for caution is long past. Darkspawn don’t give a fuck about the Chant, and, personally, I don’t either. Forget what father taught you! I won’t have you hesitating to use your gift to protect our lives, and if anyone else will try to interfere – I will kill them myself!’_.”  
The elf recalled his very first meeting with Hawke, their short conversation on the steps of Danarius’s mansion after the fruitless search. The mild tone Terrance used to inquire if Fenris would have a problem with his sister doing magic, his firm assurance that he trusted her with his life – and the memories were now overlaid by the threat that didn’t loose any of its ferociousness even when delivered second-hand. Fenris shuddered to think what could have happened if he was a little more paranoid and a little less grateful for Hawke’s (and his sister’s) unexpected and mostly undeserved help.  
But such freedom of action as Terrance had encouraged with his desperate words was the first step to the misuse of magic. A desire to protect the loved ones, though noble and admirable in itself, could be easily used to justify all kinds of questionable decisions including blood magic and deals with demons.   
A year ago Fenris would not have even paused before voicing all these thoughts. Now he said: “A dangerous permission to give to a mage,” only sounding lightly disapproving.  
Bethany blinked, returning from the depths of her recollection. “It was a risk,” she agreed readily, which was also vastly different from her most probable reaction in the beginning of their acquaintance. “But Terrance literally had no other choice. Later, we’ve talked a lot about father’s warnings and chose together which of them to heed, but from the very beginning he trusted me to know the borders I must never cross. And he was right,” she added with firm conviction, “I was so damn terrified, but I knew could not afford to waver if I wanted to keep my family alive – not like my father did, still worrying about templars when he should have been thinking only about his wife and children!” her voice rose unexpectedly in accusation, and her fist, now tightly clenched, punched the armrest sharply.  
“Sorry,” she breathed out immediately after. “That’s not… It wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. It’s just… it was Terrance who taught me to fight, who trusted me to take responsibility for our safety as an equal; but now I feel like I’m back to being a burden, his useless little sister that he’s tasked to protect!”  
“Maybe you should be saying this to him?” Fenris suggested as gently as he knew how.  
Bethany smiled a little bitterly. “He knows. Of course he knows; in those weeks we’ve learned to understand each other so well, and it’s not something you can unlearn afterwards. The sad thing is, this understanding is a double-edged sword: I can’t even argue with him because when I look at the situation from his point of view I can’t help but agree. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help me not to feel as if I’m failing him and taking a coward’s way out.”  
Fenris honestly tried to imagine the turmoil Bethany must be going though. He was familiar with the pain of struggling to overcome a lifetime of conditioning to escape something that was suddenly identified as wrong, but how much harder it probably was to find a balance within yourself when your own mind was pitted against your feelings?  
“I’m sorry,” Bethany said once again, “you don’t need to trouble yourself over my problems. I know what’s best for the family and I’ll just have to get over myself,” she said firmly, and Fenris had a feeling she was addressing the specter of her brother.  
“Before I managed to thoroughly distract myself, I was actually going to ask you something.” The girl paused, once again calm and resolute. “Please take care of Terrance in my stead,” she asked to Fenris’s utter bafflement. “He isn’t high maintenance,” she continued with a little teasing smile, “you only need to trust his decisions and watch his back if something goes wrong.”  
With a start Fenris recognized that it was indeed Bethany’s behavior in a nutshell. She would bicker and joke around with her brother when everything was calm, but when it was time for action she was always firmly supportive on his judgement. The elf never really questioned her devotion, but now, having glimpsed the origins of their deep – and undoubtedly mutual – trust, he doubted anyone could even temporarily replace Bethany at Terrance’s side.   
There was also a second startling thought: what if Hawke, in his seemingly unfair demands concerning Anders’s treatment, was subconsciously checking if he could rely on Fenris to accept his leadership as his sister did; if the elf was going to be a part of solution instead of the problem, as the saying went.  
His silence stretched for far too long, prompting Bethany to try and persuade him further. “I promise he will never risk your life unnecessarily; he will even explain his reasoning if you ask him afterwards–”  
“Don’t worry,” he finally answered. “I understand what going into Deep Roads entails, and believe it or not, I know how to follow orders.”  
“That’s now what I’m saying!” the girl exclaimed. “Don’t compare it to slavery!”  
“I’m not,” Fenris shrugged easily, “since it’s now my _choice_ to do as Hawke asks. He was even kind enough to demonstrate his worst side to give me a chance to refuse.”  
Bethany smiled reluctantly, but nodded her acceptance. “I’m glad you’re going with Terrance,” she said, “but I’ll really miss you.”  
“I’m sure,” the elf chuckled, amused by this unexpected change of subject.  
“I will too!” she insisted stubbornly. “At least, I will definitely miss you more than Anders,” she amended.  
“That’s a little more believable.”  
Bethany huffed out a half-amused half-irritated breath and got up from the ‘guest’ chair, prompting Fenris to rise as well. “You’ll just have to wait and see how I hug you to death when you return.” She narrowed her eyes at his skeptical expression. “Or do you need an advance demonstration?” And before he had time to answer one way or another she stepped forward quickly, throwing her arms around him in a brief but firm hug and whispering _thank you___ in his ear. In the next moment she was already backing away and smiling brightly. “I’ll be going now,” she announced, “best of luck in the Deep Roads, and please return safely.”  
The elf nodded a bit stiffly, but that appeared to be enough for the girl.   
Luckily she hadn’t stayed to witness a spectacle of Fenris standing motionless and trying to come to terms with a foreign notion of affection freely expressed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I'm currently playing DA:I, so the chapters will be slower in coming for a couple of weeks. But worry not, DA2 still holds a special place in my heart despite magnificence that is Inquisition, so this series will be continued.

In Fenris’s opinion, the expedition into Deep Roads wasn’t quite the disaster Hawke’s warnings made it out to be. Bartrand was definitely a rude bastard, but he was uniformly rude to everybody, and no-one was really bothered by that; the darkspawn were practically non-existent, with a few exceptions that appeared to be not a little disoriented and easily defeated; and even Anders – miracle of miracles - wasn’t overly annoying.  
True to the maps unwittingly provided by the Grey Wardens, the entrance into Deep Roads was practically right next to Kirkwall’s gates, but the group had to travel underground for several days before getting to a thaig – dwarven analog of a city-state, as Fenris understood it – before they had hope of finding something worth wasting time and risking lives over. During those days the motley crew of humans, elves and dwarves had nothing better to do then scout the passages and even outright search for darkspawn. They went as far as establishing a betting pool over who would kill the most number of the creatures: the idiots who had heard of the Blight only though tales of terrified fereldan refugees were eager to prove to each other and themselves that it wasn’t anything impressive – after all, what a couple of stupid hurlocks can do against such powerful and fearless fighters?  
Those who hadn’t felt the need for posturing – Hawke and his companions included – steered clear of the boastful tales and laughed off any attempts to draw them into the contest. Anders, particularly, was busy patching up the ‘battle-hardened warriors’, who were not-so-quietly fretting over catching the taint, which drastically reduced the length of time he could spend on bemoaning the fate of enslaved sorcerers of Free Marches.  
On the occasions when their little group had time and opportunity to chat, Hawke took it onto himself to preemptively stir the flow of conversation away from any explosive topics. Thus, if they were not doing any scouting that required silence and concentration, they mostly shared anecdotes from their past, which all of them had in abundance. (Hawke turned out to have been quite a troublemaker in his childhood; none of them believed it at first, seeing as how most of the time he was an epitome of diplomacy and tact now. But after the third tale of mischief – and Terrance’s tales were the most frequent simply by virtue of being unrelated to touchy subjects such as mage rights and freedoms – they had to accept it as fact.)  
Anders had probably received some kind of speech about importance of maintaining at least an illusion of peace, and so refrained from telling the tales of his daring escapes from the Circle (although Fenris was sure that he had already heard most of them anyway, with the way the mage loved to bring them up in attempts to garner pity for the severe punishments inflicted upon him as a result of those bids for freedom). He instead shared a couple of stories from his time as a Grey Warden that were obviously a part of some greater tale, the entirety of which he didn’t want to disclose for some strange reason. (Fenris’s secret favorite was one about a band of ingenious thieves who disguised themselves as hurlocks to scare away villages who would have otherwise protected their belongings more fiercely, and how the Warden-Commander scared them off by pretending to be the Archdemon.)  
The elf was pleased to find that he was not without things to recount himself. He, of course, did not remember anything of his life prior to acquiring the lyrium markings, and the period of slavery was an unspoken taboo, but in the three years he’d spent on the run there was a number of episodes which were quite hilarious in retrospect, even if he hadn’t viewed them as such while they were in progress.  
At times, when conversation grew strained despite all the participants’ efforts in civility, or when topics naturally dwindled, there appeared Varric, as if summoned to their little group by a magic thread to lighten up the mood. The dwarf knew everyone and their mother, and spent most of the march flitting between the members of the expedition, encouraging and smoothing ruffled feathers as needed; even if Bartrand was the one giving orders, in was apparent that the success of the venture was largely based on his younger brother’s diplomacy and practicality.  
On the occasions when he joined Hawke and his two companions, he mostly shared gossip about their fellow gold-diggers, which was vaguely entertaining in a useless way. Obviously, there wasn’t a lot of variety in the lifestories of those who risked life and limb going into the unknown depths in search of treasure: these people had to be both poor enough and reckless enough to even contemplate entering Deep Roads.  
Varric’s knowledge of Deep Roads themselves was much more interesting.  
Fenris hadn’t had previous occasion to consider the sheer magnitude of resources and effort that went into construction of the vast net of underground tunnels. Mind boggled to think that there was a time when dwarfs were literally everywhere, living right under the feet of surface-dwellers as well as under the mountains and even under the seas. Tevinter emperium with its ambitions to cover all of Thedas was almost laughable in comparison.  
“Wouldn’t it be more practical to build smaller tunnels, though?” he asked once, looking at the high ceiling shrouded in darkness (and cobwebs, very liberally).  
“That rather depends on your definition of practicality,” Varric replied, smirking up at him. “Do you imagine that dwarfs never need to move things that are higher than they are? Or maybe that it will benefit the trade and political relations if all the visiting surfacers have to constantly bend their heads or risk braining themselves on the rocks? Dwarves don’t build the tunnels quite so high and wide right away; but if it becomes obvious that they will be used often by a large number of travellers they are expanded, and with space to spare. Look here,” he invited, pausing near one of the posts that appeared from time to time along the road. Fenris had, in fact, already studied a couple of those when they had stopped on a crossroads to verify their further route and knew that the carvings on them were not simply a decoration, but time and lack of proper maintenance had rendered them unreadable. “These milestones,” Varric patted the stone almost affectionately, “were commonly placed along the active trade routs with the surface and held a lot of useful information. Even if we didn’t have any intel on the thaig nearby we could have guessed its location from examining a couple of these. But all the same, it’s lucky that we don’t have to strain our eyesight and feeble knowledge of dwarf’s ancient road signs.”  
“You are quite knowledgeable for a dwarf who claims to have never lived underground,” Hawke commented mildly, his words a mix of praise and inquiry.  
“You know, Hawke, there’s this thing called _education_ ,” Varric answered solicitously, “with books and everything. Very useful for broadening the horizons or digging into the depths, as the case may be.” Then he grew a little more serious. “Bartrand may be the one with practical knowledge of underground navigation, but I’ll be damned if I rely on him for this. There was a time in our childhood when he loved to tell me how he would take me into a deep dark cave and leave me there forever. Pretty sure I still have nightmares about that.”  
“How sweet of him,” Anders snorted. “So I’m guessing that the bigger the tunnels the better our chances to eventually see the light of day again if we just walk along them?”  
“Basically, yes.”  
“But it’s doubtful that we’ll find something valuable if we stick to the ‘public’ routs, as it were?” Fenris supposed.  
“That is, unfortunately, also true. But until we reach the thaig we don’t need to worry about that.”  
“Small mercies,” Anders muttered with an almost theatrical shudder. “I remember going down low, rough-cut tunnels and finding a whole lot of disgusting shit there. Not looking forward to the repeat of that particular experience.”  
“I’m surprised you’ve agreed to come here at all,” Fenris commented as neutrally as he knew how to sound, “I seem to recall you loudly proclaiming you’ll never set foot into Deep Roads again.”  
“What can I say,” the mage replied, “Hawke can be quite persuasive if he puts his mind to it.” The mage’s smirk seemed to imply far more than even his words, and Fenris greatly disliked the implication. “What about you?” Anders continued. “Do you hope to get enough money to buy yourself out when your master comes looking?”  
The elf’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but when he was opening his mouth to reply he caught Hawke’s stern gaze. The fereldan very slowly and deliberately shook his head, and Fenris was unpleasantly reminded of their talk before the expedition and the understanding concerning the mage’s treatment. He jerked his head downwards in a parody of a nod and turned away, which, judging by the satisfied snort, the blighted mage took as a sign of verbal surrender. Having abruptly lost interest in further conversation, Fenris fell back, leaving Hawke and Varric to ask about Anders’s previous adventures in the Deep Roads to the apostate’s preening delight.  
He wasn’t even bothered by the stupid jibe – he had been long inured to the verbal assaults, since it was the various magisters’ favorite way of tormenting the property that was too valuable to physically damage – but Hawke seemingly taking the mage’s side (and the mage so obviously enjoying it) disturbed him far more than he could have expected, even knowing that Hawke was doing it out of practicality instead of genuine sympathy.  
Fenris was so deep in his unpleasant thoughts that he never noticed Hawke dropping back as well to walk quietly beside him. When his presence finally registered, the elf shot him a wry smile.  
“Did you come to appease my wounded pride?”  
“Sure,” Hawke agreed easily. “If it really needs appeasement, I’m at your service. You only need to instruct me in the appropriate course of action.”  
“I don’t suppose you’ll leave a rat in Anders’s pack for me?” Fenris suggested, Hawke’s fondly amused smile already making him feel much more generous towards the apostate.  
“So petty,” Terrance clucked his tongue. “And that will rather defeat the purpose for which your pride was injured in the first place,” the fereldan obviously took his suggestion as a joke, and Fenris decided to leave him with his benevolent assumption.  
“I don’t know,” he drawled, “maybe we can get away with it now – after all, you’ve already lured him here, right where you want him to be.”  
“But Varric was careless enough to disclose how he can find his way back,” Hawke whispered in mock-alarm. “We’ll need at least a very big locked door between us and the surface before we risk offending him too much.”  
Fenris snorted at the unexpected absurdity of Hawke’s reasoning coupled with a perfectly straight-faced delivery. He was sure that the fereldan wouldn’t think about any petty means of getting back at Anders – mostly because Hawke wasn’t easily annoyed and thus didn’t need an outlet for his frustrations – but it was pleasant to imagine that he would really consider it for the sake of lifting Fenris’s spirits. In fact, envisioning this slightly idiotic endeavor was almost heart-warming, as opposed to more violent actions which Fenris of old (old being only a year or two ago, but that time seemed like almost a different age now) would have found more appropriate response to the offence from a hostile mage. But no, Fenris of today didn’t really think that Anders deserved to die, no matter how meddlesome and irritating the mage could be at times; and he wished Anders’s blood on Hawke’s hands even less.  
The elf shook his head minutely to dislodge the thoughts too morbid for his peace of mind and tried to choose a less disturbing subject.  
“How _did_ you persuade him to come anyway?” he asked.  
Hawke easily accepted the change of topic. “There wasn’t all that much persuasion involved, all things considered,” he shrugged. “He needed a change of scenery, apparently: the templars had been sniffing around his clinic for a while now, and it was a natural move to lay low for a while.”  
Fenris lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. “And of course, the best way to escape the danger of imprisonment and death by templars is to search for even more gruesome death at the hands and teeth of darkspawn.”  
Hawke huffed out a quite laugh. “I also had to remind him that no matter what he thinks of charity, it doesn’t actually work without money,” he conceded. “He may be able to live off the gifts of those whom he healed, but his more rebellious efforts require considerable funding if he wants to really help the mages who flee the Kirkwall Circle.”  
“So, you’re implicitly supporting his ‘plight’,” Fenris spat venomously. _Maybe I should have steered clear of any mentions of Anders altogether_ , he thought privately, already anticipating a certain clash of reasoning.  
“I’m not _supporting_ anything,” Hawke objected forcefully, “it is just a means to an end. I don’t need to involve myself in any of the city’s wide-spread struggles to improve my own standing.”  
The elf could only chuckle mirthlessly at the impressive display of naiveté. “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve already involved yourself in all the major ones.”  
“Aren’t you generalizing too much? You can’t claim to know what all I’ve done during my stay in Kirkwall.”  
“Bethany,” the elf intoned, watching as realization dawned on Hawke’s face.  
“That little snitch!” he muttered, but didn’t submit any further refutals.  
It would have been fruitless anyway: even those events Fenris witnessed personally were enough proof of Hawke’s embroilment in Kirkwall’s mage-templar conflict that was steadily boiling under the surface of the city. So far the fereldan managed a balancing act between the two forces, having helped them both in fighting the most radical and out-of-control extremists of the other. But Fenris dreaded the moment when Terrance wouldn’t be able to walk the tightrope anymore – mostly because he couldn’t imagine what he’d do if the fereldan chose to side with the mages.  
“I know how to fight and I even like fighting at times,” Hawke said contemplatively, “but I prefer a peaceful resolution of conflicts on the larger scale. Anders’s views are extreme in some ways, and some things he mentioned lead me to assume not all of them were even his to begin with, before he opened his body for the spirit of Justice, but his methods are still nonviolent. I do believe that adding money in the mix will make things run smoother, which will give him less cause to resort to brute force.”  
“Did you reason it out before you went to him with your invitation, or just now to pacify me?” Fenris inquired suspiciously.  
“Does it matter? It’s no less true either way.”  
“Your stubborn belief that you can stay neutral indefinitely will cost you in the end,” the elf said with conviction.  
“ _Your_ stubborn insistence that I’ll be involved in it all even after I solve my financial problems is bordering on offensive.”  
Fenris shot him a sidelong glance. It was hard to tell if Hawke was indeed offended by the elf’s words or just commenting on the potential, but Fenris was more interested in finding out if he honestly believed he would return from the Dark Roads with a chest of gold and calmly settle into the life of a ordinary citizen, conveniently forgetting about all the incidents that outraged, frightened or disturbed him during the previous year. Hawke wasn’t one to stand aside and observe, especially when the situation went counter to his principles; he took charge instinctively and almost always succeeded in resolving problems in his favor either by force of by the power of his words alone. (The expedition was, in fact, the first occasion when Fenris saw him taking orders from someone else – and having witnessed Hawke’s polite yet causal disregard of authority in his interactions with the magistrate and even the Viscount, he had been a little surprised by the reticence.)  
“You tend to involve yourself in others’ problems if they stuck a cord with you,” Fenris said by way of explanation and a bit of an apology in case any offence was really taken. “I would know, since I’ve benefitted from this trait of yours myself.” That got him a surprised stare.  
“How do you mean?”  
“Do you remember, when we’ve first met, right after you’ve found out that Anso hired you under false pretences and you had to deal with a large organized force and possibly a tevinter magister instead of a couple of smugglers? You could have walked away then and saved yourself a great deal of trouble.”  
“Why should I have?” Hawke shrugged. “I was in it for the money and you promised to pay.”  
“No,” the elf objected patiently, “That was _after_ you’ve already agreed. Before that you grinned maniacally and said: ‘Good, let’s go kill some slavers than, maybe that’ll help improve my mood’,” he quoted with a deliberate lack of inflection. “Why were you in a bad mood anyway?” he added as an afterthought.  
“Gamlen, probably,” Hawke answered distractedly. “Did I really say that?”  
“Trust me, I remember it well, since I’ve thought that if I have to work a dangerous man it’s better that his frustrations are spent on my enemies and not on myself.”  
“That’s… definitely not the impression I aim to give,” Hawke said with a frown.  
“And it’s not, generally,” Fenris reassured, “I guess, the circumstances were unique – and let me tell you, a blood-stained axe on your shoulder nicely accentuated your bloodthirsty smile and helped show your penchant for diplomacy not at all.” It was the first paradox – or maybe the first facet of the paradox that Hawke was – Fenris had encountered, because even then he had felt that the man standing before him was not just a brute; there was a subtle inflection that showed that his eagerness for a fight had more behind it than a simple desire to kill. “I’ve since learned that there’s much more to you than violence.” And an ability to captivate people’s full attention, he added silently: that first time he barely paid any attention to the young woman accompanying the warrior, going so far as not to notice her possessing a magical talent until later that night when they’d been fighting in Danarius’s mansion.  
And later still, when Hawke came to talk to him under less volatile conditions, as he put it, Fenris was surprised anew by how calmly resolute he acted. The fereldan let him satisfy his curiosity, answering a lot more questions than he asked himself, impressing the elf with the apparent ease with which he cut himself from the past and looked only into the future. Impressing and making him envious, Fenris admitted in the privacy of his mind, because the elf’s own past was not similarly inclined to let him go.  
Remembering it now, Fenris could only marvel at how much had changed between them in the course of few short months. He had thought that a road from wary distrust to unreserved enjoyment of someone’s company (and acceptance of that someone’s apostate sister as a friend as well) would take at least several years. But Hawke had a talent for choosing the right words and actions to accelerate that process. ‘ _I do believe we can help each other out,_ ’ he’d said that first time, after succinctly summarizing his past and gently mocking Fenris for his creative ways of decorating the walls with the _Aggregio_ , ‘ _and not only with the expedition. I imagine we share a lot of the same problems, so why not share the solutions as well? This city has no shortage of troubles that a couple of hired swords can solve, so I’m sure we can partner up and both profit from it. And if any slavers come to disturb you in the meantime, that can be dealt with as well._ ’  
The proposition itself was good, but Fenris was seduced by the manner in which it was made: Hawke spoke easily, as if Fenris was an equal and he didn’t care neither for his previous social status nor for his race. That was probably the explanation behind the astonishing speed with which trust grew out of initial caution: nothing in both Hawkes’ behavior ever hinted at prejudice based on the things Fenris had no control over.  
And that, the elf suddenly realized, was why he couldn’t begrudge Anders Hawke’s sympathy; he had to respect Terrance’s willingness to judge people individually on the things they’d done instead of the things they _could_ do, for that was, in fact, exactly why he was walking beside the human now.  
But no amount of persuasion would ever make _him_ believe that mages were not more dangerous as a consequence of the gifts they’ve been born with, he reassured himself, and Hawke would surely benefit from the more objective point of view at the time when the delicate balance he maintained inevitably fell apart.   
“Ah, you’ve finally returned to the present,” Hawke commented when Fenris lifted his head, noticing that the conversation had stilled for those several minutes he’d spent contemplating the past. “I hope that smile meant you were thinking something pleasant about myself,” he added with a playful hopefulness.   
“Actually,” the elf smirked, “I was imagining how shrill Anders’s screech will be when he finds a dead rat among his clothes.”  
Hawke barked out a short laugh. “You’re a menace,” he pronounced, not without a note of admiration in his voice. Fenris sketched a short bow. 

The next day, when Bartrand locked his own brother and his companions in the lowest levels of he thaig simply so he could possess some stupid idol, and after they tried everything in their power to cut through the stone before concluding that the way back was sealed for good, Hawke turned to Fenris with an encouraging smile and said: “At least we have that big locked door now,” and they both cracked up under the uncomprehending and slightly concerned looks of their companions.

**Author's Note:**

> I would greatly appreciate any feedback, especially since I’m starting to think about wringing some stories about Bethany specifically. Would anyone be interested in reading them?


End file.
